


Lucky To Wake With You

by Cloudnine101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M, Snacks & Snack Food, Summer Camp, Teen Crush, midnight snacks, time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4681772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"You're - you - " Dean runs out of words. "Seriously, Cas. Why didn't you just say?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Castiel frowns at him. "I didn't think this was normal behaviour," he says, cradling the pot of custard to his chest.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean rolls his eyes.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky To Wake With You

_January 24, 2004_

 

It's the third night of camp when Dean wakes hungry. Putting a hand over his stomach, he flops onto his side. He can taste morning breath, which technically shouldn't be a problem, seeing as it isn't actually the morning yet. His body, however, doesn't seem to care, because apparently, it's time for breakfast. Early.

"Cas," Dean hiss-whispers. " _Cas_."

No reply. Not really weird - Castiel sleeps like a log. You turn the lights out, and bam! He's away! Normally, Dean doesn't mind about it. If the guy's tired, the guy's tired. Swimming isn't to everyone's taste. It just makes midnight conversations - or two am conversations, probably - a little more difficult.

A couple of beds away, Kevin lets out a little snuffle. Dean clamps his lips shut, and flips onto his side. The mattress digs into him.

"Cas," Dean says, again. "Come on, buddy. Wake up."

Reaching out a finger, he edges forwards, and prods the Cas-shaped lump in the next bunk along. Above him, Sam coughs, and then snuffles.

The lump shifts, and teeters, and topples over.

Dean blinks. "Huh," he says. "Where _are_ you?" 

Because, as it turns out, Cas isn't in his bed. He isn't in any of the other bunks, either. Silent as a ninja (or a mouse, or something), Dean peeks into them. He finds out that Benny sleeps with his pillow over his face, which is great ammunition for the morning - but aside from that, there's nothing. No little squirrelly face. No big, blue eyes.

At a loss, Dean scans the room, just to make certain. Cas still isn't there. He hasn't miraculously crept back into his bed since the last time Dean looked.

Dean's belly lets out a loud, pointed growl. Dean glances down at it.

"Alright, alright," he says, "easy. You just hang tight."

On tip-toes, Dean makes his way towards the door, avoiding jumpers and oars and God knows what else. Kevin's actually got a plastic snow globe beside his bed, which, what - but he doesn't step on it, so that's fine. Let the kid have his girly moments.

The door creaks as he shuts it, and Dean winces. Benny says something about a deer. Shows how weird the guy is, to be perfectly honest. Dean's always had his suspicions.

Making his way downstairs, Dean tries not to look at the pictures on the walls. There he is, as a tiny little tot, in his first canoe - there he is again, four years later, tying his second ever knot. If anybody cared to look, they'd realise just how many summers he's spent here. It's bad enough that the counsellors nod him hello.

Opening the second door, Dean steps through, and looks around. He's in another corridor. There's the salmon over the doorway, and there's the mud spot on the rug, and there's the light on in the kitchen.

The light on in the kitchen.

Vaguely, Dean realises that he should probably be panicking. Rubbing at one eye, he shrugs. Let them catch him at it - it's not as though they don't know, anyway. He'll get away with it. He always does.

So, Dean steps into the room, and smiles. The smile stops the second he's through the doorway.

"Err," Castiel says. He's wearing baby blue pyjamas, and his hair's all missed up. He's standing beside the fridge, and he's clutching a spoon in one white-knuckled hand. "Hello, Dean."

"What are you doing?"

Castiel flushes. It spreads from his cheeks around to the back of his neck, covering every last one of his freckles. Dean's not a girl - no way - but even he can appreciate that.

"I understand that this is not where you expected to find me," Castiel says in a rush, "but this place is gruelling. The regime is so difficult, and I haven't been home in three months, and my sister can't call me because she's backpacking, and my parents won't call me anyway, and I had to have something."

Castiel ducks his head down. He looks a couple of inches away from crying. Dean backs up.

"I'm sorry," Castiel says. "Please don't tell the others."

"You're - you - " Dean runs out of words. "Seriously, Cas. Why didn't you just say?"

Castiel frowns at him. "I didn't think this was normal behaviour," he says, cradling the pot of custard to his chest.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Why do you think _I'm_ down here?"

Castiel's brow furrows. "I presume it's because you saw the light."

Dean snorts. "Yeah. You could say that." Leaning forwards, he opens the fridge door. Castiel brushes against his side, and then steps away. Dean looks down. "Chocolate."

Castiel is watching him steadily. Doing his level best to look calm, Dean places the slab on the counter, and begins to peel off the wrapper.

"You're - snacking, too?"

"Yeah." Dean peers down at the bar. "How long d'you think this thing'll take?"

Castiel shrugs. "A while," he says.

Dean grunts, and turns around. Castiel is very much on the other side of the kitchen to him. He couldn't put any more space between them if he tried.

Dean picks up the still solid block, and holds it out. "Want some?" he says.

"I thought," Castiel says, slowly, "that you were uninterested in - sweetness."

Dean shrugs. "It takes my fancy, sometimes."

Castiel nods, once. He seems to be trying to get his head around something. Dean lets him take his time; he prods at the chocolate, and attempts to snap a chunk off. He ends up with a couple of squares, which is more than he bargained for, but whatever. Beggars can't be choosers.

Lifting the pieces up, Dean licks his lips, and deposits them into his mouth. He groans. The sugary softness floods through him, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

"Ah," Castiel says. "I see."

Dean puts the chocolate down, and rolls his eyes. He yawns.

"You should cover your mouth," Castiel says, "while you're yawning. It's impolite."

Dean rolls his eyes. "And this is why you don't have any friends," he says.

"I do," Castiel says. "I'm friends with Charlie, and Meg, and Balthazar, and - "

"Any friends who ain't girls. And no, Balthazar don't count." Dean crosses his arms over his chest. "What you need is someone to look after you."

Castiel stares at his bare feet. "I can defend myself," he says, after some time.

Humming, Dean picks up the chocolate again, and chews on it. Castiel stands in silence. Let him wait - he doesn't deserve any better treatment.

"And besides," Castiel says, "it's not as though you have any friends here, either."

Dean almost spits out the chocolate. It's a close run thing. "What did to just say?"

Castiel squares up to him. Dean takes a step forward.

"I said," Castiel replies, "that you don't have any friends here, either. Everybody's too afraid of you."

"They ain't afraid of me!" Dean says, and it's true. "If they were afraid of me, why would I get a partner for everything, huh?"

Castiel's right in front of him now. He's bristling, scrawny shoulders shaking. Dean's stomach is a hot, roiling, boiling mess. He feels like he's gonna be sick. He can taste the chocolate.

"If that's the case," Castiel says, "why were you looking for me?"

"'Cause you like me," Dean says. "You listen."

Castiel nods. "I do like you," he says, "but not when you're being like this. Not when you're trying to impress someone. I like you when you're yourself."

"I'm being myself!" Dean snaps - yells, nearly. "What d'you think this is, huh?"

Castiel simply states at him, for a second. Dean feels the back of his neck grow clammy.

"I think this," Castiel says, "is you trying to impress me. Is that correct?"

Dean doesn't reply. "You're stupid," he says, instead. "Real, real stupid. Don't know why I ever wanted to talk to you. You ain't got brains, after all."

"I do," Castiel says, quietly. Dean turns away. His brain's whirling, and he can't think straight, and all he wants is to go upstairs and pretend that tonight never happened. "Dean."

Dean stops. Pauses. Stills.

Castiel's hand is a warm, firm press. Dean moves to face him, hand balling up. Castiel's breath puffs against his face. He's got custard around his lips. "I like you," he says. "And it doesn't matter what the boys think. You're special."

Castiel's looking at him, right in the eyes, and Dean's swallowing. Castiel's not that far away. He hasn't let go of Dean's shoulder. His eyes are blue. He's got custard around his lips. His breath's puffing against Dean's face. The top button on his shirt is undone.

"You're weird," Dean says.

Castiel sits down. He leans back against the counter, long legs out in front. There's a plaster on one of his knees.

Dean keeps on looking at him - and Cas smiles, ever so slightly, lip quirking upwards. "Are you going to join me?" he asks - and with anyone else, Dean would think they weren't being serious. Not Cas, though. He's got the sense of humour of a mallard.

Dean sinks to his knees, and Castiel looks surprised. He raises one of his eyebrows, which is pretty dang impressive, all told. Dean still hasn't got the knack of it.

"Where'd you get the cut?" Dean says, and Cas shrugs.

"Climbing, I think. I whacked my leg while we were absailing." The way Cas says absailing, you'd think it was some sort of magical, mystical ritual.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Lemme take a look," he says, and he leans forward, and he takes the plaster off. Dean places it on the ground between them. "It'll heal if you get some air on it."

Cas frowns. "Benny said to keep the plaster on," he says.

"Yeah, well, Benny don't know squat. This is the way to do it."

Castiel nods, all grave and earnest and serious. "I'll bear that in mind," he says.

To be honest, the scrape doesn't look too bag. Big enough to require a sticking plaster, sure, but nothing that'll give Cas a limp. Just Cas being a wuss, as per usual. And Benny being a drama queen.

They're a couple of inches apart. Castiel's in front of him. He's got his hands on his knees, and he's staring Dean out - like he's some kind of weird bug, or something.

"Are you gonna eat that or not?"

Castiel looks down at the custard bowl. It looks a little lumpy. "Yes," Castiel says. "I suppose I should."

"Spoon some of it out," Dean says. "That way, they won't notice it's missing."

Castiel's eyes narrow. "Have you done this before?"

Dean flushes. "A bit. You got a problem, Novak?"

"Well, if I did, would I be here?"

Dean's stumped on that one. "Huh," he says.  
Castiel smirks his usual smug, self-satisfied smirk, and picks up the spoon, and says, "Are you going to get me a dish?"

Dean's first instinct is to refuse. Duh. Because if they're alone in the middle of the night, and he's getting friggin' bowls for Cas, what else are they gonna do? Kids can do all kinda crazy shit. He and Kevin watched a documentary on it a couple of nights ago, when they were laid up after the water polo. There were harvest kings and crowns and shit. Corn fields. Fires.

"Sure," Dean says, and gets a bowl (dish, whatever), and hands it over. Cas takes one, two, three spoons, and then stands, and puts the custard back in the fridge, and shuts the door. "We've gotta turn the lights out."

Castiel nods, once. "In case we get caught," he says - and Dean's nodding, too, and then Cas walks over to the doorway, and the lights go out. They're left in darkness, with only the blue glow from the crack in the fridge door.

There's a shuffling. Dean blinks. His eyes make out the scene by degrees - the wall paneling, and the tiles, and then Cas, sitting cross-legged, spoon in hand, happily digging in.

"Mm," Castiel says. He glances across. In the dark, he looks like a jack o'lantern with a bed-head. "This is good."

"See that," Dean says. Groping his way across the room, he grabs hold of the chocolate, and seats himself. There's quiet. Hush. You can't even hear Kevin snoring. Like something's about to pop out the woodwork, and grab Cas around the waist. "This is like the X-Files."

Cas hums. "I'll be Mulder," he says.

"No way. _I'm_ being Mulder. You can be Scully."

Castiel shrugs. "It doesn't matter," he says. "Not really."

Dean feels a bit petty, after that. It doesn't last for long. His stomach settles itself out fine, thank you very much.

Cas takes another gulp of custard. "Mm," he repeats. "Mm."

Dean chews on a bite of chocolate. "D'you know," he says, "nobody'd know. If we jus' left."

Dean's words are garbled. He swallows.

Surprisingly, Castiel's actually looking at him, now. "Where would we go?"

Dean shrugs. "Somewhere," he says. "Back home."

Castiel smiles. It's short. It's bitter. It leaves a funny taste in Dean's mouth. "My family don't want me," he says.

"That ain't true," Dean says, "families always want you. My dad can barely leave us alone. We're going someplace or other nearly every day, and when we're not, Aunty Ellen comes and gets us, and she took us to this theme park, once."

"I've never been to a theme park," Castiel says, eyes fixed on the far wall.

"Yeah," Dean says, "yeah, they're really cool. Sammy and me, we went on all the big roller coasters, and Sammy was real scared."

"Were _you_ scared?" 

Dean shakes his head. "Nope. Not a bit. I went on - on the alligator ride, and it had a loop the loop in it!" Dean spreads his hands wide, to illustrate his point. 

"I bet you were," Castiel says. "You're showing off again."

Dean bites on his lip to stop himself from swearing. He picks at his top. "You'd never know if I was," he says. "I'm great at keeping secrets."

Castiel blinks at him. "Are you?"

Dean nods. "Uh-huh. My Dad says so."

"What kind of secrets?"

For a moment, Dean considers. "All kinds of secrets."

Castiel's arm brushes against his shoulder. "This kind of secret?"

"What d'you mean?"

Castiel smiles at him. Dean's stomach flips over. There are butterflies running all the way through his body, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

"Can I tell you something I've never told anybody?" Castiel says.

"Yeah," Dean says. His voice comes out in a whisper. "I'm the best."

Castiel inches forwards. He turns his head. They're touching. Dean can see the black bits in his pupils.

"I don't actually like custard," Castiel says, and sits back, and grins.

"Hey!" Dean says. Reaching across, he grabs Cas's arm, tugging him back in close. "That ain't fair! You were meant to tell me a proper s - "

Castiel kisses him. He grabs hold of his shoulders, and clings on, and sort of Rams their faces together. He makes a weird little noise, and his teeth are gritted.

Castiel's lips meet his, and they push, just a little. Dean reaches up, and wraps his hands around the back of Cas's head, because there isn't anywhere else to put them. There's warmth tingling in his stomach, and in his lips - and Cas's mouth is wet, and custard tasting, and his hair's coming up in spikes between Dean's fingers.

Dean moves a little closer, so that they're pressed up against one another. Castiel's hands are rigid on the sides of Dean's face, like he doesn't know what to do with them. He's gripping on tight. His cheeks are pink. He's all determination, eyes squeezed shut, lines and planes and angles and the sharp bits you find on car dashboards.

Dean closes his own eyes, and lets himself be carried along, and Castiel breaks off. Dean's never actually heard him laugh before. He sounds like a donkey. Or a lawnmower.

"What was that?" Dean says, and he has to fight really, really hard to stop himself saying the f-word, because this is definitely one of the situations that requires it.

"You said to tell you a secret," Castiel says. "Now you know."

"That's - that's - " Dean shakes his head. His hands are cold. "You don't do that to someone. That's gross."

"But - I thought - " And Castiel looks so lost, the little guy, that Dean pitied him. He slaps his shoulder.

"Come on, man. You know that ain't right. People don't do that." Dean rocks back on his heels. His stomach's curdling. "Were you always after - that?"

For as long as you've known me. For as long as you've been my friend. The words sit in his head, unspoken.

There's a cough.

Dean springs back.

Benny's standing in the doorway, eyes boggling out of his head.

"Err," he says. "Just came down for marmite."

Dean nods. "Come on in," he says, mouth still singing. Benny does so slowly, creeping in-between them. Castiel won't meet Dean's eyes. "Cas was just going up to bed. Right, Cas?"

Slowly, Castiel nods. "Yes," he says. "I'll see you in the morning, Benny."

 

 

That night, Dean goes outside. He walks into the forest, and climbs up the biggest tree he can find. It's cold; the wind's whistling past his hands, numbing them. Dean sticks them into his armpits, and rocks into himself, in the space between the tree and the branch.

From here, you can see the whole camp, almost, apart from the couple of runty huts down the hill. There's the lake, and the swimming pool building, and the dorm rooms, and the shower block. There aren't lights on in any of the windows - it's all still. Hushed.

Dean blows on his aching fingers, and listens to the air whistling through the branches. The tree rocks, a little. Dean holds on to steady himself. He sits back, and scrubs at his eyes, hard, and breathes in. His stomach's tied up in knots. He couldn't eat a bite if he tried. Benny'll have gotten to his chocolate by now, anyway. Cas'll have gone back up to the dorms with him.

Dean's chest shakes. He tries to rub it away, and he starts to cry.

 

 

Dean doesn't speak to Castiel the next day. He skips wash time, sneaking back into the dorms when everybody is else is getting debriefed. They'll all be down there in the courtyard, listening to whatever dumb thing they'll be doing that day. It's a shame, kind of; Dean had been looking forward to volleyball.

While Dean's scrubbing himself, there's a molten rock sitting in his chest. It's smouldering down there, right between his ribs. It makes him choke; it's stretching out, all through his body. He feels light-headed. He feels sick, but when he splashes water on his face, he only feels sicker.

And every time he thinks he's starting to forget, Dean'll see Cas's face - ducked down, white and blotchy, nose all red - and he'll want to hurl.

They're in the same activities group, but that doesn't really matter. While the counsellors are handing out clipboards, Dean just kind of steps back, and hides out behind a clump of trees, and then he starts running.

Through the branches, he sees Cas's head turn, swivelling from side to side. He's wearing a waterproof jacket, and a poncho, and he still doesn't look ready for it. Wuss.

If they notice he's gone, they don't come look for him - and if they do come look for him, they're not doing a very good job. Dean only has to jog for a little while before he can't see them anymore. Wiping the dirt off his hands, he looks around. It's pretty quiet - only a couple of big, black birds he doesn't know the name of.

Dean bends down, and picks up the biggest rock he can find, and chucks it at one. It falls a few feet short, but the message gets across. The bird starts cawing and yelling like mad, and spreads its wings, and flies away.

Dean waves his arms, and cranes his neck, and grins. If he closes his eyes for long enough, he can pretend that he's a bird, too - that's he's flying up, and up, and away. He's good at this. It's a game he played with Sam, when he was small and Sam was smaller. They'd go running off down the road, when Dad went for a rest break or to take a load off, and Dean would hold Sam up above his shoulders, and they'd both be birds together.

There's a crunching. Dean's stomach swoops low. Somebody's coming after him - somebody loud, who doesn't know much about sticks and forests, the amount of noise they're making. Probably one of the counsellors. They can't tell their heads from their butts most days.

Dean grabs hold of another rock, and spins to face the exit. His heart hammers in his chest. Slowly, the view clears - a branch is shoved aside.

"Heya," Benny says, "Dean."

Dean drops the rock. "Oh. Hey, Benny."

Benny smiles at him, big and slow and dopey. He's like one of those cats, with the teeth and the swishy tails. "Heya," he says again. "Don't worry. They didn't follow me. I was awful quick, and I kicked Kevin, so they had to focus on that."

Benny actually looks proud of himself, the big dumb mutt. Dean grimaces. "Great," he says. "Kevin's okay?"

"Okay. Fine. Bit cut up, but he'll manage." Benny rubs his hands on his khaki-coloured pants. "I've got a mean kick."

Dean moves his eyes away. He looks at the stone. "Cas okay?"

Benny's eyes griddle the side of his head. "I don't know," he says. "Why don't you ask him?"

Dean shoots him a glare. It always shuts Sammy up. "You saw," he says. "Cas - he's - "

"Gay?" Benny shrugs. Dean starts. "Yeah. So's my big brother. And he's the best thing in the whole world." Benny shows a gummy smile, with lots of teeth.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." Benny nods enthusiastically. "One time, when he went out driving, he took me on the back of his bike. All of his friends called him weird, but he said he didn't care."

Dean looks at his shoes. One of his laces is untied. "Sure," he says.

"Are you gonna go talk to him? 'Cause he looked real sad today. Looked like he'd been cryin'." Benny laces his hands together.

Dean looks up. "No, he wasn't!"

Benny shrugs. "Whatever. Point is, you two are friends, right?"

"Were," Dean says.

"He can't help it, y'know," Benny says. "Bein' gay. My brother told me. He says it's the way you are, not a choice. And people who can't deal should shut up."

"He _is_ gay," Dean says. "Easy for him to say."

"Brother," Benny says. "Quit griping." 

"You ain't my brother."

Benny looks at him. "No," he says. "I ain't. But you should be thinkin' 'bout who is."

The coal in Dean's mouth surges its way out. Benny pats him on the back.

"Are you going back?"

Benny shakes his head. "Naw. Think I'll stay out here. Keep Kevin off my back."

"I might go on in," Dean says. "Volley ball's on, right? Sounds fun."

"If you wait any longer," Benny says, "you'll miss the archery."

Dean nods. "Kay," he says, and Benny eyes up a tree. "See you."

"See ya," Benny replies. He doesn't sound like he's listening all that closely.

Dean shrugs his shoulders, and sticks his hands in his pockets, and walks away.

 

 

Dean turns up at the archery when it's halfway through. Everybody's preach set up at their stations, standing in long, thin lines. As he passes, Kevin gives him a capital-S Stare. Dean Stares right back. He's got a sticking plaster on his knee, too.

Chewing her lip, Jo shoves a bow into his hands. She's tall, and blonde, and pretty. She's got a nose ring. "Hey, cuz. What's up?"  
Dean glances from side to side. Fortunately, nobody seems to have seen. "Cas around?"

Jo rolls her eyes. "Sure," she says. "Sloped off. Can't say I blame him."

"Thanks," Dean says, and spins on his heel, and moves off as fast as his legs can go.

"Mom says eat your greens!" Jo yells after him. Dean covers his hands with his ears.

 

 

Cas isn't on the edge of the woods, which is the first place Dean thinks to look. He isn't in the shower cubicles, or the pool, or hiding behind the courtyard's shrubs. This means, basically, Cas has chosen the most unimaginative hiding place in the history of the world. Dean can't say he's surprised.

Sure enough, when Dean shoves his way into the cabin, Cas is sitting on the bed. Dean can't be sure it's him, at first. He's got his face in a pillow, and a blanket pulled up to his neck. He looks like he's cocooning himself.

Dean circles in, and shoves his shoulder. "Hey," he says. "Cas, you in there?"

Castiel twists around. He's scowling. It'd probably be more frightening if he was my tangled up in bedsheets. "What are you doing here?"

Dean restrains his chuckle, and sits down on the edge of the bed. He's careful not to touch Cas's legs. "Looking for you." Dean peers down at his hands. "Benny said you'd be crying."

"That's why he run off," Castiel says. "Well, he isn't right. I'm fine."

Dean shakes his head. "No you ain't, man." Dean shakes his head. Cas is chewing on his lip. "Quit sniffling, alright? Seriously. You ain't a baby."

Castiel glowers, but he runs a hand across his nose. He's a bit less snotty, now. "What do you want?"

"I want to say that I'm sorry," Dean says. "And that I shouldn't have freaked. And that you're okay. Really. I just - I dunno. Wasn't ready. But it wasn't your fault."

Castiel bites down on his lip even harder. It flushes. "I was the one who kissed you," he says. "This is on me. It's my burden to bear."

"Burden?" Dean actually does laugh, this time. Castiel struggles his way upwards, pushing a pillow to one side. Dean sobers up. "There's no - no burden, Cas. You're my friend. I was a dick. End of story. What you did was weird, sure, but you can't help it. I get that."

"I should've controlled myself. I should've done better. I should've - " Castiel breaks off. "I thought you liked me. As - more."

"Well," Dean says, "we can't be right all the time, okay? We're cool. You're cool. So wipe your eyes off."

Castiel peers at him. "You're not angry?"

"I am. A bit. But I'm cool." And it's not anger Dean's feeling - not precisely. It's more of a hissing - a seething, a searching, writhing its way through his gut. But he's not _angry_. "What'd you say we go get some breakfast?"

"They've already handed the sandwiches out," Castiel says - but he doesn't sound like he's snuffling, anymore.

Dean smiles at him, and Castiel smiles back, wide and bright and hopeful. "Let's go find us some," he says.

 

 

 

_August 30, 2015_

 

It's practically the middle of the night, and Dean can't sleep. He's sweating - his t-shirt's sticking to his ribs. No matter how many times he turns, he can't get comfortable.

"Cas," he says. " _Cas_."

Moving across, he stretches out an elbow. It takes Cas a couple of seconds to respond.

"Hm?" Sitting up, Castiel flicks on the nightlight. Dean hisses, covering his eyes with his hand. Castiel's smile swims into his line of sight. "Good morning."

"Night," Dean says. "Sorry."

Cas shrugs. "Alright," he says, and leans closer. Dean tips his head up eagerly. He's rewarded. Castiel's lips press against his, hot and sweet and soft. Dean makes to surge forwards, but Castiel's palm on his shoulder stops him, firm and insistent.

"What is it?"

Dean shakes his head. "Nothing," he says. Castiel's disapproval practically radiates off him. Dean flushes. "I don't know!"

"Dean," Castiel says. "You can tell me. You trust me, don't you?"

Dean nods. "Yeah," he says. "Course."

Castiel smiles. "There we are, then."

"I just - I was just thinking. About how lucky I am." Dean inspects the covers. Hopefully, if he doesn't look up long enough, Cas'll lose interest and go back to sleep.

No such luck. Blinking through his sleep, Castiel places a finger beneath Dean's chin, and lifts it up. Dean feels his mouth go dry.

"We are lucky," Castiel says. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know, but - did you ever think we'd end up here? After all this?"

Castiel's eyes dip down. They run along Dean's figure, from top to bottom. Dean's toes curl up.

"I had an inkling," he says.

"Sure you did," Dean says, and, before Cas can protest, presses a kiss against his lips. Castiel responds in kind, meshing up against him, pressing him down against the mattress. Dean grins, lightly pecking Cas's jawline. Cas's hands frame his shoulders. They're smiling at one another, poised in place.

"Love you, you know," Dean says, and his heart nearly flips out of his chest.

Castiel simply smiles, placid as ever. "I know," he says.

Dean reaches up, and takes his face in his hands. His fingers run along Cas's stubble; Castiel's eyes flicker shut. Dean's thumbs brush across Cas's eyelids, and he watches as they flutter.

"Dean," Castiel says, and Dean smiles, and smiles, and holds onto the back of Cas's shirt, fingers digging into the fabric. "You are - vital, to me."

"Make a guy feel special, why don't you." Dean chuckles, massaging the side of Cas's face with his fingertips. "Relax. Easy, tiger. I've got you."

Castiel's eyes snap open. This close, Dean can make out every fleck in them. "Yes," Castiel says. "You do."

Dean tries to ignore the warm rush he receives, and moves closer, and tips his neck up, and kisses Cas again, in a messy flurry. Castiel kisses him back, hands squeezing his biceps tight.

And Dean's stomach rumbles. 


End file.
